


"I think it's something I'd like..."

by HimeBeat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Parentlock, Romance, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HimeBeat/pseuds/HimeBeat
Summary: The game was on again.Except now they were married.Or,How John can't get Sherlock to stop using the word "husband",not that he wants to.





	"I think it's something I'd like..."

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of S4 complaint but mostly a fix-it with some mentions here and there - mainly I just kept Rosie because I lover her, all right. all in all fluffy goodness, read on and get your fix of married Johnlock being dorks in love.

“And you are…?”

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes, this is my husband, Dr. John Watson. Now, I request you let us further inspect the body, I need to get as much out of it as possible while the scene is fresh”

Sherlock didn’t as much as dismiss the inspector, he nodded for John to join him while he took a closer look, John followed, still taken aback by Sherlock’s word choice. He felt a bit on the spot, and the detective’s inquiring look wasn’t doing much for his blush, he scoffed a little and forced himself to focus.

They were on a case, after all, and case-mode Sherlock needed him to be case-mode John, business as usual.

Except that word - _husband_. He couldn’t quite believe it yet, neither could he get Sherlock to stop using it, over anything, he’d call up to his _husband_ for the most irrelevant reasons, he’d introduce himself as he had just done, or vice versa, introducing John first, followed by “I’m his husband, Sherlock Holmes” and the pride in his tone, _God_ , John still couldn’t help the warmness that’d take over his whole being when hearing Sherlock say those words.

Until two weeks ago he was John Watson, army doctor, Dr.Watson, _my college,_ John Watson, _my partner_ , John Watson, _my lover,_ _my friend,_ occasionally _my blogger, my love_ , when Sherlock was feeling particularly tender. Now, all of that paled in the light of Sherlock’s newfound favorite term, _my husband_.

He bloody loved it, all right, loved knowing that Sherlock was as proud of their union as he was, it was just a tad odd to have him refer to him in that way while on a case. The first real case since they came back from their enforced honeymoon - Mummy Holmes had insisted, and John knew that if they didn’t take the opportunity then, they would be gray (er) and old (er) before their next chance for a vacation ever knocked.

Lovely as it had been - and John would _so_ make a thing of going back to Vienna at least once a year because, anniversaries, love - by the end of their ten days, they were both eager for a murder, to solve something, to hear that, somewhere in London, in England, something had gone terribly wrong, and they were someone’s last resort.

The game was on again.

Except now they were married.

And that shouldn’t have made so much of a difference because, _well,_ you’ve been together for five years, John, what exactly were you expecting. They were older now, in a committed, exclusive relationship, they lived together, payed bills together, solved crimes together, they had a _daughter_ , for god’s sake. His own flesh and blood, who recognized Sherlock as “Dada” since she was two years old, their perfect, beautiful daughter whose eyes would light up whenever either of them entered the room.

A daughter who was waiting for them at _their home_ , back in Baker St.

Perhaps it was just that John never expected to be anyone’s husband again, certainly not Sherlock’s. Not because he didn’t love Sherlock or didn’t want to be united to him in that way, but after losing Mary, after almost losing Sherlock, _everything_ , well, he just didn’t think he could find “love” a suitable thing in his life anymore. He felt it for his daughter, and God knows he felt it for Sherlock, but in what way, _how_ could that ever work, he didn’t know.

Neither did Sherlock. And on that faithful day over five years ago when _someone_ had kissed _someone_ because, bloody hell, John, we are not getting any younger here, well, John still had no idea of what he was getting into, but Sherlock had a point, and so he jumped in, blindfolded, let it be whatever the hell it was supposed to be.

It turned out to be wonderful. And natural, and simple, and everything John secretly fantasized loving Sherlock would be like, maddening at times, frustrating, helpless, when Sherlock would go through dark periods, when John couldn’t bare with loss, with his own demons, sometimes. But it was also all shades of beautiful, and domestic, and so, so worth it, just to arrive home after a day at work to find Sherlock and Rosie curled up in a couch, napping, or reading, or watching telly, it was worth it to get to hold Sherlock every night in their bed, to share a kiss every morning, when passing by each other, before he went to the surgery.

It was worth the tender, vulnerable moments when he’d see a side of Sherlock he knew no one else had seen before, no one else would ever see. It was definitely worth the sex, and the passion, and the frantic post-case high that’d have Sherlock ripping off his clothes not a minute after the case was officially over. It was worth the slow, quiet nights in which they’d make love in the dark, like dancing a dance they didn’t think they’d know so well.

John was happy - _happy!_ \- with all of this, and he didn’t think he’d ever need or want anything else, all in all, he had managed to create a family and be with the person he loved, and have a pseudo-normal life, he didn’t care much for how people saw him and Sherlock, those who knew they were a couple were happy for them - _finally,_ he remembers hearing from, well, _everyone_ \- people in the internet would talk, crazy theories they didn’t encourage nor denied, this far up in time, with both of them reaching the half century mark sooner than not, who the fuck cared for how they addressed each other.

Sherlock did, apparently.

There was not a proposal, per se, and John has a theory that, hadn’t Harry been so loose mouthed that day, there wouldn’t have been a marriage at all - really, the didn’t _need_ one.

 

John had been speaking to Harry, about a month ago now. After years of lost, erratic contact, they had finally worked out their relationship for the best, Harry wanted to be closer to John, she wanted to be there for Rosie; after losing Mary, and their near death experience with Euros, John decided that life - his life, specially - was too unpredictable and short as to hold a grudge on his sister forever.

They were on FaceTime, one of Harry’s favorite things to do, because she got to see Rosie and her brother at the same time, and she truly felt close to them, despite her being in America, having moved there after finding love in the arms of a forty-something woman from Ohio. They would visit London twice a year, but this video-calls were their best bet in staying in touch, and they would do them on the least once every other week.

“Dada has been teaching me how to play the violin!” Said Rosie, excited to tell this news to anyone who would listen, they were nested in their living room, with John’s laptop on the coffee table, facing them both on the couch.

“He’s said you’re a wonderful apprentice” Commented John, beaming at his daughter.

“Where’s that husband of yours, anyways? Off on some crime scene?” Harry was awfully fond of Sherlock, for saving her brother of a dull life. And if she only knew, John would think at times.

“He’s just run down to Scotland Yard to finish a report for Lestrade, and potentially to ask for a new case” he sighed, they’d _just_ solved one last night “should be back any minute now…”

The conversation carried on.

John hadn’t corrected Harry’s use of the word “husband” because, _well, because,_ he just thought of it as sibling’s mockery, she knew they were together, and she knew they weren’t married, and it was just a bloody word. One that _did not_ bring John any feeling of longing, nor did it make him feel warm when he’d think of himself as Sherlock’s husband, not that he’d think about it, of course.

“Well, it’s getting late over here, we better get started on some supper. Rosie, would you help me set the table, please?” John put on a tender smile, trying not to be alarmed at the fact that Sherlock hadn’t returned.

“Goodnight, aunty Harry” Smiled Rosie, she blowed a kiss to the screen, and disappeared into the kitchen to help her father.

John sighed “Where is this bloody idiot…” he muttered.

“Aw, worried about your hubby, are you?” John rolled his eyes.

“No, just… he usually texts when he’s on his way back”

“Look at you, such a concerned missus, so attentive to details”

it was all harmless teasing, but John was genuinely starting to worry. Just as he finished his thought, Sherlock walked through their flat’s front door, his hair more muzzled than usual, probably from the wind, he smiled at the sight of John, but didn’t say anything, as he quickly noted the laptop, and deduced Harry at the other end of the screen. John smiled back, and a breath of relief escaped him.

“Ah! He’s arrived, hasn’t he? Well come on, Sherlock, say hi to your sister-in-law!” She exclaimed, so loud that John had to lower the volume on the laptop. “Let me see how old you’re looking these days!” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but approached to the couch nonetheless, he settled next to John, and gave him the lightest peck on the cheek, before turning his attention to Harry.

“Hello, Harriet” he said, polite as ever. Sherlock was just as fond of Harry.

“My oh my, you’re certainly aging well, Holmes, you should learn from whatever youth secrets your hubby keeps, Johnny dear”

John scoffed.

“Yes, yes, lovely, as I said, time for supper, Harry, we’ll talk to you again, later”

They said a short goodbye, and soon, _finally,_ it was only them in the living room, Rosie still moving plates in the kitchen, as far as John could tell.

“You have not corrected her” Was the first thing Sherlock said to him

“Huh?”

“Harriet has referred to me as your “hubby”, and you have not corrected her”

John blushed, and then frowned. “She does that all the time, she’s just joking” he explained, not following why Sherlock cared about this.

“Being someone's husband is quite serious, John” and his tone suggested a discussion would follow this, John could only hope it’d be a civilized one.

“I know it is” he’d been married, long ago, but he was aware of how serious it was.

“I guess…” John frowned, Sherlock didn’t _guess_ , Sherlock _deduced,_ “since you make no adamant in correcting your sister, it might be because you’re not against the idea of us as a married couple”

“Well, love, look around you, we are pretty much like a married couple”

“Except we’re not married” Sherlock said.

“Except we’re not married” he repeated.

And neither of them got to say anything else, because the next thing was Rosie waltzing into the living room, jumping into her Dada’s arms as soon as she saw him, and Sherlock’s whole attention went to _their daughter_ , and John’s whole attention went to the scene in front of him, and to the love he had for these two people, and how they were his whole word.

And he forgot about the whole husband thing short after.

But Sherlock hadn’t, because he brought it up later that night, while John panted and tried not to move, after a particularly intense love session that left him both breathless and mind-blown.

“…I think it’s something I’d like” he heard Sherlock said, and it took John a second - _fine, five_ \- to register Sherlock’s sentence.

“Sorry, what?”

“Marriage, John, I’d like to be married”

“To… to me?” Great, he was stuttering.

Sherlock snorted. Then frowned.

Not good.

“No, John, I forgot to mention, I’ve been in another loving relationship these last five years, and I’m thinking on marrying that other lad.” John frowned, the sarcasm was uncalled for, but it also let John know how vulnerable he was making Sherlock feel, and, hating being the cause of any discomfort to Sherlock, he picked up quickly.

“Oh, Sherlock, love, look at me” Sherlock picked up his gaze from where he was buried in John’s neck, John made sure to look at him in the eyes before continuing, and when he saw the fear in Sherlock’s eyes, mixed with a bit of embarrassment, and yet another tiny bit of anxiety, it made John’s breath catch in his throat, because, how could Sherlock ever _doubt_ how much John loved him, Sherlock was _everything._

“Yes” was all he said.

And it was Sherlock’s turn to stutter. “Y-yes?”

“Yes, I’d like that, too. Yes, let’s get married, to each other. Yes, let’s make it official, let’s sign the bloody contract, just… yes, yes” he said, and Sherlock laughed, and Sherlock cried, and Sherlock kissed him.

 

 

Rosie had actually been surprised to find out that her parents weren’t married already “but you love each other” she had said, the following morning over breakfast, when her parents shared the news with her, before anyone else

“we do, this is just a formality, it won’t really change much” John explained

“Hm, yet, I do believe it brings some added value to me, to be your husband is just… befitting” commented Sherlock, and John kissed him there and then, further proving to their daughter how much they loved one another.

And so, they had been married, without much of a ceremony, but Mommy - _Mycroft, actually -_ treated them to a small reception, with only their closest people in attendance.

And since the moment they were pronounced husband and husband, Sherlock’s whole vocabulary had somehow managed to accommodate the word in his every sentence.

John couldn’t say he minded one bit. But it still caught him by surprise. He was too old for this newlywed bliss thing, yet he couldn’t help it. Maybe he had been married before, but he couldn’t forget this was Sherlock’s first - and only, thank you very much - marriage, and if Sherlock wanted newlywed bliss, and to call him husband as his first name from now on, John would be more than happy to comply.

_Case, John, you’re on a case…_

_right_ …and what was his husband saying, again?

“He didn’t choke” John said, somewhat aware of Sherlock’s latest deduction on the body laying in front of them. Sherlock shot him a questioning look, inciting him to continue, “Had he choked, the would be more swelling around his throat, from the struggling and possible coughing, maybe poisoning…”

Sherlock muttered a “Great observation, Dr. Watson, indeed…” and carried off with the rest of his deductions. The detective in charge of the investigation puzzled by Sherlock’s ranting, but mesmerized nonetheless.

John looked around, not really observing as much as pretending he was, for the sake of looking useful.

And who cared, Sherlock probably had it figured out already, it had been five minutes.

“…John?”

“Oh? Sorry, what did you say?”

Sherlock frowned, he hated repeating himself, his husband knew this.

“If there’s anything else you’d like to see on this body?” John shook his head “very well, then, Detective Inspector…er, Moon, is it. I’ll need to know of the victim’s friends, family, whatever you have, please have a file sent to our address, we’ll be heading out, now” Sherlock stretched his hand out to John, who took it immediately, and followed his husband out of the scene, with Lestrade’s substitute DI on their heels.

Once outside, John was slightly concerned with Sherlock’s haste to get home. It’s been a decade, Watson, stop swooning over calling Baker St. _home_.

“Everything all right, love?” He asked, once they were both settled in their cab.

“Quite so, I’ve got everything I needed from the scene… that Moon lad, he’s a bit odd, though as long as he cooperates…”

“Lestrade should be back in two weeks” John commented, Sherlock nodded nonchalantly. Unwilling to admit he’d be missing their usual DI while he was on his own vacation.

“You were awfully distracted back there, John, don’t think I didn’t notice” _of course not_ , John thought, Sherlock never missed a beat, specially when it came to him. “What had you so preoccupied?”

“You” John answered, honestly, an answer that, needless to say, didn’t satisfy his husband.

Fuck, _his husband._

There was that swell feeling again.

“I was thinking about our marriage”

Sherlock’s breath caught.

“God, it’s only been two weeks, please don’t tell me I’ve messed it up already” He sounded genuinely concerned, but John chuckled.

“Of course not, you idiot” he faced Sherlock and kissed him at the top of his curls, briefly noticing the graying hairs on it “I was just thinking on how happy it makes me, to call you my husband, to call myself yours”

“Well, not that you couldn’t do that before, I’ve always been yours, you know” John nodded.

“But you were right” Sherlock loved being right “it does have an added value, a bit hard to explain, it just, it feels right”

Sherlock smiled at him, understanding perfectly, because whatever John was feeling he had felt, too. In fact, he hadn’t stopped feeling it.

“You may have noticed, that I’m slightly fixated with the use of that word as of late”

“Hmm? Really?” And the sarcasm and amusement in John’s voice were such. Sherlock scoffed.

“I believe sentiment has finally caught up with me” Sherlock sighed, ironic, John simply laughed, and intertwined their fingers together.

_“I believe_ you’re not as sharp as you used to, love” Smiled John, no harm meant in his tone “Sentiment caught up with you quite a while ago” he kissed Sherlock’s temple, and the detective was happy to nest his head on _his husband’s_ shoulder until they reached 221B Baker St.

_Home,_ John thought, not even trying to suppress the thrill anymore.

He did not hold back the smile and the shot of joy he felt when Rosie jumped to hug them upon arrival to their flat.

He certainly didn’t hold back from showing _his husband_ just how proud he was of their recent nuptials that night, of how much he loved Sherlock addressing him as _his_ to anyone who would listen.

He made sure to leave enough marks on his detective’s neck and wrists, so no one would have the faintest doubt of how happily _married_ they were indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hadn't done fan fiction in ages, but my love for these two characters and their love for each other seem to have done the trick. hopefully worth your read. Just a bit of fluff because I very much like it when our Baker St. Boys get a break from their angsty canon-lives, hope you liked it (:


End file.
